


The Order Of Things

by Hexametaphosphate



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Mild Language, Multi, asshole!Armin, hipster!Jean, teenagers being teenagers, the tags are kind of an add as i go thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-27 01:00:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexametaphosphate/pseuds/Hexametaphosphate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the worst of times, it was the best of times, it was the time of all times. The high school times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Order Of Things

**Author's Note:**

> I think the main thing that made me start this, aside from wanting an asshole!Armin and a hipster!Jean, was a fan art of Erd Gin (crossdressing, if I'm being specific). Now all I can picture is Erd being a handsome, sauve devil. Is it canon? I don't really care. It's happening. I'm making charming!Erd a thing. Also, Mikasa's a terrible cook (and is seven years older than Eren).

I grew up watching Degrassi, and thought I had an idea what high school would be like. Unfortunately, television has a nasty habit of exaggerating things.

"I could have told you that," Armin states, taking a bite out of his hash brown, so lovingly bestowed upon him by Mikasa before we'd left my house. "Actually, I'm pretty sure I did." He keeps his eyes focused on the sidewalk, ignoring my moderate disappointment.

I sigh, taking the last bite of my McMuffin. "Yeah, yeah," I mutter. "It's not like I actually thought it'd be exactly the same. Just makes me a little underwhelmed."

"Such a big word for a dope like you at seven in the morning," he retorts, earning himself a punch in the arm, which only serves to make him stumble ever so slightly and burst out in laughter.

Today marks the beginning of our second week since entering Trost High as freshmen. The first week mostly consisted of teachers outlining the school's guidelines and a syllabus for each class, lists of things we needed that weren't on the general ones Mikasa picked up for us a month before. All I seemed to sit through were ice breakers and "Welcome to high school" crash courses, though Armin wasn't nearly as lucky. As smart as he is, he had a schedule full of Honors classes and was left doing homework all weekend. When I came over I ended up playing the shit out of his PS2 and watched him scour four different textbooks for three hours before he finally picked up a controller and joined in. It was enough to make me realize that I'd need to make more friends soon or I'd find myself staring holes into my bedroom wall until next summer.

Armin was quick to quip that I could probably do so and be enthralled; there was still a nice dark color left on his leg where I'd punched him for it in the midst of a heated race in Burnout. I apologized, of course, not meaning to hit so hard, but in my defense he _is_ an asshole.

On the rest of the way to school Armin complained about the teachers he found to be idiots and a handful of his classmates. One in particular seemed to come up often. How anyone managed to get so high up on Armin's list of things to talk about in a matter of five days is beyond me.

"He actually lectured Shadis for five whole minutes about Japanese culture. _Lectured_ him, Eren," he stresses, throwing his hands up in front of him for further emphasis, "with every intent to make him look stupid."

Armin's expression conveys something along the lines of admiration and I smirk. "Trying to make a teacher look stupid? What a great thing to do your first week of school. What's his name again?" I forego teasing Armin about the look on his face, realizing that in spite of how full of himself the kid sounded he might make an entertaining friend.

"His name is Jean, the one with the short undercut," he answers, crumpling up the wrapper to his breakfast and tossing it as we draw near a trash can; the paper misses and I laugh, he blames it on a gust of wind though I'm positive I didn't feel anything.

"Oh, the one whose hair is two different colors? Does he actually dye his hair like that or does it just fade out that way?"

"Dunno, haven't asked yet. Hold on." Armin digs into his pocket and retrieves his phone, and when I raise an eyebrow at him he adds, "I asked for it just in case I needed someone with more than fifteen brain cells to help with my homework."

"Fifteen?" I say, still snickering at the fact that Armin asked for Jean's number (and at my imagination's depiction of how red his face must have been). "I've improved, you said ten last time."

Armin chooses to ignore me and for the rest of the walk we don't say much, years of friendship making the silence comfortable and not at all awkward. Jean doesn't reply and five minutes later when we step on campus it doesn't matter anymore. The kid is there in the courtyard near the atrium doors, laughing obnoxiously. I grate my teeth at the sound, easily carrying across to the circle drive, and wonder if I'll actually be able to put up with the guy. With the way my best friend's staring at him as we approach I'm thinking I'm going to have to whether I want to or not.

"Hey, Armin!"

Armin's whole face lights up at the sound of Jean's voice and I attempt to recover from the stagger it causes. "Hey, Jean," he mumbles when we reach the small retainer wall around the side of the building. "Did you finish your abstract this weekend?"

At the sound of 'abstract' I tune out. Armin's happily joined Jean on the edge of the retainer; with nothing else for me to do I simply sit next to him and pull out my phone. Three messages from Mikasa since leaving fifteen minutes ago, all of which are her being extremely motherly, and one demanding that I do the dishes when I get home. I snort at this to myself and and pocket the device once more.

"Oh, by the way," Armin starts, grabbing my arm to get my attention, "Jean, Eren. Eren, Jean."

I give the kid a good, hard look for the first time. He's got one of those faces that is a strange combination between human and horse. The strangeness of it makes it almost stunning, and for a brief moment I think I understand why Armin finds him so interesting. Remembering that Jean is not just a (horse) face I glance down and try not to snicker; _he's a total fucking hipster_. The thick-framed glasses, his sickly yellow plaid shirt, his brown-nearing-black skinny jeans, and those stupid moccasins no one should be allowed to wear ever. It takes every ounce of my willpower not to sneer at him.

He pushes his frames up the bridge of his nose in an unbelievably nerdy manner and gives me a scrutinizing look that I imagine mirrors mine. "Hey," he says, rather candidly.

I choose to ignore it. "I'm gonna go grab some tots. I'll see you at lunch, Armin." I can't decide if the look on Armin's face is one of gratefulness or horror, and I don't stick around to get an answer.

At twenty past seven the line for breakfast is lengthy, a multitude of chatting, laughing teenagers. I'm mildly jealous of their ability to be so lively and find myself rubbing vigorously at my face to keep myself awake, a habit Armin constantly tells me is a bad one. "It doesn't even help that much," he snorted at me last Friday, "start drinking coffee or something." In spite of his condescending tone I took his advice in the form of a Styrofoam cup now steaming in my hands. When I reach the hot bar there's only four packages of tater tots still left, and as I grab one of them the remaining three are snatched simultaneously. I actually stand back in awe at the speed in which they've been obtained.

"Oh, hey— sorry, didn't see you there," the culprit immediately apologizes. "I, uh, you want another?"

For a moment I can only stare. "Oh, no, it's fine," I manage to say, clutching the last bag of tots. The pure look in her warm brown eyes, paired with radiant olive skin and dark chestnut hair falling just below her shoulders in a loose ponytail, is almost breath taking. Maybe high school's not that disappointing. "I'm Eren." The words leave my lips before I've even thought about them.

She smiles at this and joins the line for the cashier, myself in tow. "I'm Sasha," she replies. "Nice to meet you. I've never seen you before, what year are you?" She says this as she stuffs a couple of her tater tots into her mouth. I get the feeling that if anyone else did it I wouldn't find it nearly as endearing.

"I'm a freshman," I say as lowly as possible without sounding ridiculous, already feeling ridiculous enough to be admitting it.

"Oh, fresh meat." There's an amused look in her eyes and for a moment I think she's going to tease me. "I'm a junior. Don't worry," she adds quickly before being interrupted by the lunch lady, paying for her meal and saying a quick thanks. "The upperclassmen are usually really nice."

She sticks around for me to pay for my breakfast, then asks if I've already got someone to hang out with in the mornings. "Well there's my best friend, Armin, but he's currently up this kid's ass from one of his classes," I admit almost sheepishly. Because this is how you win a lady over, Eren, by admitting your underclass rank and being shy.

"Come _thiiiis_ way!"

Her enthusiasm is infectious and I follow like a lost puppy, past the front doors and into the hall jutting off to the right, where the stairwell to the math wing sits with the atrium doors in front of it. A group crowds around it on either side of the half-wall separating said stairs from the hall, one blonde in particular sitting on top of the partition. I forget about Sasha for a moment as I stare at the blonde because _fuck_ , this guy is handsome. His magnetism hits me and the word 'stagger' comes to mind again.

Is Trost High just filled with beautiful people? Is this the real life American Degrassi? This has _got_ to be a dream.

"Hey," the blonde greets Sasha, the two bumping fists as his gaze lifts in my direction. "Who's the pretty boy?" His comment almost immediately makes heat rise in my cheeks and as much as I want to look away to hide it I can't.

"I, um, I'm Eren," I stammer.

"Don't take offense to anything he says," a girl pipes in from the other side of the wall; I'm greeted by another, darker, olive-skinned goddess. Goddess seems too delicate a word but I don't have the vocabulary to replace it. "Erd likes to scare little boys."

I have an urge to retort indignantly but something about her stature actually makes me think twice. It reminds me of Mikasa.

That's when he— Erd— leans forward, the one leg he'd had folded across the top of the half-wall now falling down the other side to leave him straddling it, and says, "Don't listen to Ymir, she doesn't know what she's talking about. Nice to meet you, Eren." He offers a handshake. I'm almost ashamed at how much I enjoy it.

I'm assaulted with a few more introductions; Petra, the student council president, and Gunter, the vice president. Her happy-go-lucky aura seeps into the air despite Gunter's stern presence, though I get the sense he's not just a stiff. The man next to him, however, seems so stiff it's borderline awkward. Which confuses me to some degree because he has his own flavor of magnetism that almost cancels it out. Ymir's arm is threaded through his and I'm left wondering if they're an item, and what he possibly possessed to make such a fierce lady interested.

"That titan over there is Bertholdt, our school's star basketball player," Erd explains, "He's a big ol' teddy bear even though he plays like a brute."

I try hard not to stare at him more than what's considered polite. "Oh man, I feel like I met all the cool kids just now," I mumbled, scratching at the collar of my shirt involuntarily. The words make Erd laugh; Petra and Sasha do their best to stifle their giggles (and in Sasha's case, she attempts not to choke on her tater tots), the remaining three staying true to their stoic attitudes.

They keep me occupied until the first bell rings, and when I glance out through the glass doors to where Armin had been with Jean he's gone. Horse Face too. I can't help the momentary frown that develops at the fact.

"Hey, Eren." I turn back to the wall at the sound of Petra's voice. All the others had already dashed away to their classes but she had stayed behind. A smile lights up the strawberry blonde's features and I quickly forget my frown. "What's your first class? I'm a senior so I don't think we have the same class but maybe it's on the way."

"Algebra I with Borst."

"Perfect, my class is close to the math wing!" She slings her book bag over her shoulder and claps her hands together, poised to start down the stairs. "I'll make sure you get there without getting lost," she adds as I round the half-wall and accompany her down the stairs.

 

 

—x—

When the bell rings for A lunch I'm more than happy to ditch the classroom. Having math and biology right after it is one hell of a way to start the day. At least block schedules are alternating. My schedule for today also happened to align with Armin's lunch, but as I draw closer to the stone tables in the courtyard I'm beginning to be thankful that I don't have A lunch tomorrow. My stomach turns at the sight of Horse Face sitting way too close to Armin, whispering something into his ear under cupped hands, something that makes him giggle. I had a sinking feeling from the moment Jean's name left his lips for the nth time on our way here this morning but I subconsciously prayed all through my morning classes that it wasn't happening.

It was.

Just as I'd begun to resign to the idea that I'd have to watch the schmooze fest as a miserable third wheel, Sasha comes out of nowhere, three servings of toasted raviolis and a soda in her grasp. "Eren!" she cries enthusiastically, effectively grabbing mine, Armin, and Jean's attention. "You have A lunch too? Wicked!"

She offers me a high five and I accept it. "Today, anyways." I sigh and take a seat on the stone bench next to Armin. At the vaguely suggestive look Armin shoots me, I explain, "This is Sasha, I met her this morning—"

"Hi!" she interjects, mouth full of ravioli and marinara sauce. I can't hold back my laughter. "You must be Armin. Hey, Jean," she says, almost dismissively, to which Jean acknowledges with a curt nod. I give a look to Armin for an explanation but his own look tells me that he has no clue either. "How's Trost for you?"

Armin shrugs, taking a bite of his pizza, which looked rather pitiable as far as pizza goes. That's school lunch for you. "It's not bad. Food could be better." He grumbles the last part but eats his food nonetheless. It doesn't make me excited at all to try the raviolis I'd gotten for myself, but they mildly surprise me.

"These are good, Armin, shoulda got 'em instead." He punches my arm and reminds me to finish chewing before speaking; I laugh and attempt not to choke while swallowing my food.

"You're so disgusting, I can't believe I call you my best friend," he sighs, exasperated.

"Aw, I love you too!" I grin, throwing my arms around the asshole and hugging him tight. He squirms, trying to get out of my hold until he's laughing too. Looking over him at Jean I can't help but feel smug. Jean lets a huff of breath and looks away, chewing his bite of hamburger in a miffed manner.

What is this, Eren? Are you jealous? No, _pfft_ , no way. I just don't particularly like Horse Face, that's all.

"Oi, Eren!" I perk up at the sound of my name, still refusing to release Armin from my hold. Erd crosses the courtyard in quick, long strides and squeezes himself between Sasha and I. "How you holdin' up?" He's got a burger in each hand and takes bite of one, the other still wrapped in its plastic bag. "Have you had the cheeseburgers yet? Aside from the raviolis they're one of the only things edible around here." He speaks with food in his mouth too, but something about the way he does it is so much more charming. "Oh, and sometimes they have these peach cups on the cold bar, but those disappear fast!"

"Not yet. My sister forced me to bring sandwiches the first week; I had to convince her I'd survive without them." Releasing the blonde in my hold, I ate another ravioli. "Actually," I start, still chewing, "I probably wouldn't survive _with_ them. My sister and preparing food in any manner do not mix."

"How did you even eat those?" Armin interjects, still impressed with my feat of stomaching two sandwiches a day for five days in a row, all made by my ever well-meaning sister.

"I don't believe in wasting food I guess."

"It already _was_ wasted food." After a fit of laughter from the whole table, he adds, "I think it's time we finally banned Mikasa from the kitchen, we're too broke to put her through cooking classes and it'd probably be a lost cause—"

I choke on a mouthful of food, trying to swallow it with no grace. "Oh god, can you even _imagine_ what would happen to the poor instructor?"

Twenty minutes fly by without my knowing, the conversation endlessly flowing. From Mikasa's awful cooking to Erd's mother's vastly differing cooking skills, Sasha's love for Erd's family, and said family's close knit ties with Jean's by way of the equestrian center they run and own. At this point in the conversation I laughed unbelievably hard and had to apologize to a very red-faced Jean, ready to jump across the table and suffocate me. I couldn't possibly tell him why I—

"In all fairness, you do have an equine-likeness, Jean," Erd intercedes, successfully sending me into another hysteric fit. Jean watches helplessly, clearly disgruntled by the fact that now the whole table is in an uproar over the state of his aesthetic.

Not long after the bell rings and we head our separate ways.

"Two more classes and then you're free," I remind Armin, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. His face has turned suddenly grim and I know it has everything to do with Honors Biology, the only subject that gave him trouble over the weekend. For a few glorious moments Armin is not at all an asshole.

"Yeah, I guess that's a good thing."

So focused on my best friend, I don't notice that I'm on a collision course for another student; we both catch eyes in the instant when we both realize it's too late to abort mission. I could swear I already saw his face darken with malice in those fleeting seconds before we clashed and the papers in his hands scattered around us.

"Oh, shit I am so—"

"Language," the short, dark haired man scolds me. It takes another moment or two for me to realize that he's not a student at all but a part of the _faculty_ , and I'm instantly mortified. That dark look in his eyes makes me shudder. I stumble with my words and hands, trying to apologize, but he only shushes me.

"Get off the floor before one of the janitors mistakes you for trash." He stands, papers settled in his arms once more; for what I feel like may or may not be the last time, I look up at him, completely flabbergasted. "Filthy," he mutters at his own hands, dirtied from catching himself on the floor, and heads down the hall without another word.

"Who's that?" I whisper frantically to Armin as he pulls me up.

His mood is even more gloomy than it was before. "Levi, the guidance counselor for our class."

**Author's Note:**

> WOW LOOK AT THAT I PUT LEVI IN THE FIRST CHAPTER (KINDA). Didn't even expect that myself. There you guys go, angry short man coming right through to disrupt the end of this chapter beep beep nyooom. 
> 
> For a while now I've wanted to create my own high school AU, because I had a bunch of quirks floating around in my head for a bunch of the characters, along with scenarios I felt like would be entertaining to write. I also desperately wanted a story in which Armin is an asshole, because reasons (Kuu/Shinigamieater is a beautiful person). I put off writing it for a while because I knew it would be a long term project and that's the kind of project I miserably fail at nine times out of ten (and also because how do wit?). I'm hoping this will be that one that succeeds because I'm just teeming with ideas for this shiznit. Also, I figure it'd be a good way to set up the story line in October Bites, though I'm not entirely sure if I can successfully write that arc yet. Here's to hoping; if not, at the very least I can continue to write this completely separate from that time line because I have a feeling this is going to be really frickin' sweet.
> 
> I am so excited about this guys, please tell me what you think, please tell me I'm not the only one enjoying this joy ride.


End file.
